A Hand to Hold

            Another wave swept past her. High tide was fast approaching and the waves started coming nearer and nearer. The fieriness always made her a trifle afraid and she always held on to her husband’s hand, which would always be there to steady her.

            But not anymore. Ever since her husband died last year, she had felt alone. Her husband had been her source of inspiration and strength as she had been his. Devoid of that strength, she now felt vulnerable.

            For long hours, she had sat alone and cried, never caring that this was not what he would have wanted, never remembering that she still had a family, children and grandchildren, all of whom who loved her, all of whom who would like to have her back in her cheery old self.

            One year had not been enough for her to recover fully. And today, on their wedding anniversary, when memories again started to drown her in sorrow, her daughter had suggested,

 “Why don’t you go to the beach today? You always did.”

            Yes, they always had gone to the beach, to renew their wedding vows, for it was here that they realized that they loved each other. Their wedding had been fixed by their parents. They knew nothing of each other, except what had been told to them by their parents.

            His work, as a coast guard officer, had taken them to a house near the sea. Long evenings spent talking on the beach brought them closer, and it was on their wedding anniversary that they knew this was a perfect match.

            How could she go there now, alone? When each wave reminded her of his touch, how could she stand there? If only, if only he were here with me…

            But she would go. She knew it. So she had come, and stood, with waves nestling at her feet, not caring to go further. Already she was having second thoughts about her decision.

            Suddenly, a huge wave approached, roaring and swishing. She stood rooted to the ground, scared to move lest the wave should unbalance her. And then it happened. Just when the wave struck at her feet, she felt his presence. She could almost hear his voice,

“Steady now, here, hold my hand”.

            She was no longer afraid. For she was now holding his hand, a hand that always made her feel safe.

            When after some time, she went to sit on the rocks, she found she was crying. But these were not the tears of self-pity that had engulfed her for so long. This was a cry borne out of the knowledge that she would never be alone, she would always have a hand to hold, a hand of love.


Featured by Sulekha